


Looking After Albus

by iamisaac



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Incest, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 17:26:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5635525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamisaac/pseuds/iamisaac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James has always looked after his younger brother, and is called upon to do so again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking After Albus

The trouble with always having made a big thing about how he didn’t need to exercise to keep in trim was that, considering it wasn’t true and James didn’t want anyone else to find out that it wasn’t true, he had to disappear almost to the edge of the Hogwarts grounds in order to work out, so that no one realised he was lying. Which would’ve been awkward, him being Quidditch Captain and all – oh, and having a particular phobia about being made to look like an idiot. That, too.

It was disconcerting, therefore, to discover that on this particular occasion, a group of other students had already repaired to this particular part of the school grounds. Five of them… no, six: one was kneeling on the floor between the others. James paused, and took a better look. There was something definitely _not right_ about what was happening over there. The boy (was it a boy? Maybe it was a girl) on the ground didn’t look like he/she/they were there by choice. With an inward sigh of irritation, and a faint regret about being in Seventh Year and therefore needing to make sure no one was being bullied, James ambled that way.

None of the students noticed him at first: they were all too busy, it seemed. Probably, like James, they had expected the area to be clear. As James got closer, things started to come into focus. Like the fact that one of the standing group was twisting the kneeling boy’s (it was definitely a boy, now) arms behind his back. Like another one had his hands in the boy’s hair. That a third… James broke into a jog… had his cock out and was attempting to feed it into the kneeling boy’s mouth. That the kneeling boy was not welcoming this.

That the kneeling boy was Albus, James’s little brother, became evident only as James drew even closer. The jog became a run.

“Come on, Potter; everyone knows you’ll open your mouth for anyone’s cock,” jeered one of the onlookers.

“Don’t use no teeth, or you’ll get them all bashed in,” added the one with his cock out. “Come to think of it, that might not be a bad idea beca-”

He never got the chance to explain why that might not have been a bad idea. James’s fist collided hard with the side of his head. James wasn’t entirely sure what happened after that: a red mist had rolled down and he had his wand and his fists to the fore, incandescent with anger. How dare they? How fucking dare they even think about touching Al?

When his vision cleared, there were two boys lying on the grass, and neither of them was Albus, who had his own wand out and was holding it tightly, his face blotchy green-and-white. The boys on the ground were both Seventh Year Slytherins – the year above Al, in fact, which made them fucking cowards quite apart from the odds of five to one which they’d been working with. One was unconscious; the other looked as if he wished he was. James was very tempted to grant that wish, but his brother was looking at him now with dangerously sparkling eyes. Al would be desperate not to cry in front of this bastard, James knew.

“You okay?” he asked, knowing as he did so that it was a stupid question. Al nodded. James went to his side, put a hand on his shoulder. “No. You’re not,” he said, too quietly for the conscious Slytherin to hear. He looked around. “I expect the others will be back soon, with reinforcements.” Whether the reinforcements would be more Slytherins, or a teacher, James didn’t know. He was betting on the first, in the theory that they wouldn’t really want to tell any of the Professors what had been going on out here. “Go to the Prefects’ Bathroom near the Gryffindor Common Room. You know where that is, right?” Al had been sorted into Hufflepuff, but after six years at school with a Gryffindor brother and sister, he knew their Common Room almost as well as his own. “Password ‘Mandrake’. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

Al looked at his brother with desperation in his eyes. “Don’t tell anyone, James. Please?”

“I’m going to fucking kill them,” James said grimly.

“Promise me,” Al begged, on the edge of hysterics. “Promise me you won’t tell.”

James’s expression softened. He cupped Albus’s face in one of his hands. “I promise,” he said.

*

The other boys had fetched a teacher. The Headmistress herself, in fact. They had known, it seemed, what James was only just realising: that Al and James would also not want to explain precisely what had been happening. Professor McGonagall marched out there.

“James Sirius Potter, would you like to tell me what on earth has been going on here?” she demanded, her tones more Scottish even than usual. James looked around desperately for a way out of the situation. He could see none. He said nothing.

“He attacked us, Professor,” said one of the boys by her side, with outrage in his voice.

Outrage, when he’d been -

“Why did he attack you?” McGonagall asked, emphasis strongly on the ‘why’.

“We don’t know, Professor,” said the conscious boy on the ground. “Honest.”

Honest? That was insulting enough to -

“James?” McGonagall asked.

James gritted his teeth. “They were… bullying… another student,” he said, slowly.

“We weren’t!” The objections came from the four conscious boys at once.

McGonagall looked around the area. “Travers, McNeill; take Fraser to the Hospital Wing immediately. Barrow, can you walk?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Then please accompany them. Rogers, you stay with Barrow to ensure he is all right. Potter, you come with me.”

James followed her back to the Headmistress’s Office, where Professor McGonagall sat down behind her desk, waving him to the spot in front.

“Now, Potter, what would you like to tell me?”

James had had time on the walk to think over his options. They were limited. He had promised Albus that he would not tell anyone what had actually been going on. That probably included telling McGonagall precisely which student had been assaulted, let alone the form the attack had taken.

“Professor, there were five of them bullying another student,” he said, looking her straight in the eyes. “I had to stop them.”

“In such a way that one of them is currently unconscious, another has a broken arm – oh yes, Travers might have looked all right, but I am aware that his left arm is broken – and a third was lying at the ground at your feet with two of his teeth on the floor beside him?”

Had he lost two teeth? James was grimly pleased. Barrow had been the student who suggested knocking Al’s teeth out. Poetic justice had clearly taken place.

“There were five of them, Professor,” he pointed out politely.

“They say that you started the fight, however.” McGonagall was looking at him, a slight frown on her face. “And that there was no one else there.”

“That’s not true.”

“Potter, I need the name of the student being bullied,” McGonagall said softly. “Without that, all I have is the word of five boys against your word. It would be impossible for me to accept your explanation if there is no evidence of its truth.”

James looked down at the desk. “I can’t give you a name. I’m sorry, Professor.”

“Can’t – or won’t?” she pressed.

James looked up again and met her eyes. “Both,” he said, his voice resigned. Already, he could see where this conversation was heading and it was not a good direction. He had the feeling that McGonagall believed him; but without any proof, she was in a difficult position.

“Potter,” she said, trying one more time, “at the moment I have five boys who say that you attacked them for no reason. I have you without injury in front of me – you must have fought extremely well to beat five boys; your parents would probably be proud, though I should not say that – and five other students with injuries, all giving me the same story. At least, I imagine that Barrow and Fraser will repeat the same thing: I have been obliged to leave them a chance to get their story straight because I needed to speak to you.”

There was a little irony in McGonagall’s words – ‘get their story straight’. She didn’t believe them, James thought, which was a comfort, albeit not much of one. He looked down at his hands, which were still trembling a little with fury. Curious, he thought, how anger made you shake.

“I’m sorry, Professor, but I can’t tell you anything else,” he said.

“I see. I too am sorry, James Potter, but you have left me no choice. I will have to strip you of the Quidditch Captain position, and ban you from the team.” McGonagall’s voice was extremely regretful. James wasn’t sure whether it was just because she was ex-Gryffindor herself, and still had a sneaking support for her old House, or whether it was also because she knew that James was telling her the truth. “I regret it, but I cannot allow a student to assault other students for no apparent reason.”

James nodded, not looking at her. It was true that he had left her no choice – but then, Albus had left _him_ no choice. He had made a promise, and he needed to keep it. Al had gone through enough today without facing anything more.

“Thank you, Professor,” he said, his voice defeated. He put a hand to his robes and undid the small gold bar which denoted him the Captain, passing it over to her.

She looked at him sharply. “If, at any time, Potter, you are able to tell me more,” she said, “I will always be here to listen.”

She hated it, James thought, almost as much as he did. There was one job he was never going to have when he was older: Head of Hogwarts. It must be a nightmare.

“May I go, Professor?”

“You may go.”

*  
James headed straight for the Prefects’ Bathroom.

“Mandrake,” he said urgently to the door. It remained stubbornly shut. “Mandrake!”

The door still remained shut.

“Mandrake, you bloody thing,” James yelled, all the fury he’d been bottling up in the conversation with McGonagall coming to the fore. “I want to get in and see my brother, so open up, you stupid bloody door!”

The door swung open. Albus was sitting on the floor next to a steaming bath, his hair still slightly damp, but his robes back on. He looked up at James as James came in.

“Sorry. I changed the password.”

That’s ok-” James cut off. “Hang on, _you_ changed the password? I thought only the doors did that for themselves?”

Al shrugged apologetically. “Usually. But I can generally talk them round.”

“What did you change it to?”

Al blushed. “’My brother’. I figured you’d be the only person who would say that when it didn’t open.”

James sighed, and came and sat down next to him, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “You okay?” he asked again.

“Yes,” Albus said again.

Déjà vu.

“No you’re not,” James corrected him. “Shit, Al, what the fuck happened?”

Albus looked at him sadly. “I think you probably gathered.”

“But why?” James asked, not able to deny Al’s comment.

“Because I’ve done it before, and everyone knows it? Because I’m openly gay? Because I’m me?” Al twisted his fingers in his lap. “How many reasons do you need, James?”

More than that. More than that for them to try and…

“How many people _have_ you, y’know…” James trailed off before he could finish the sentence.

Al did know. “Six,” he said quietly. He made a brave attempt at a smile. “Four, before today.”

He looked away, but not before James had seen the tears in his eyes. James swore. He’d thought he’d got there in time to save Al from… from that. 

“Which ones?” he demanded, getting to his feet. Albus said nothing. “Which ones?” repeated James, angrily.

“Why?” whispered Al; and James could see the tears dripping into his lap, and James was shaking again with that ferocious anger.

“Because I’m going to fucking kill them,” he growled.

Albus shook his head. He was heaving with sobs, even as he tried not to let them sound out. James found his own eyes were prickling. He swallowed, and sank down again next to his brother, taking him in his arms.

“Oh, Albus,” he said softly.

As if his words had given Al permission to let go, Albus collapsed into James’s arms, sobbing his heart out. James stroked his head gently, like he’d done when Al was little and had nightmares. He rocked him back and forth, as if Al was five, not nearly seventeen. He blinked away his own tears: Al didn’t need to know about James’s distress, not now.

“Am I so awful?” Albus whispered, clinging to James. “I was dating them, they wanted me to – so I did…”

“I know,” said James, though he didn’t, not really.

Al looked up at him, a trace of defiance in his face. “And I liked it,” he said, raising his chin and staring James down. “Because – because we were together, and it was nice.” He bent his head again, so low it was almost in James’s lap. “Maybe I was asking for this,” he said quietly; and James could feel the wet drops of Al’s tears seeping through his robes. “Because I didn’t say no to the others.”

James held Albus close against him, tight – so close, he could feel Albus’s heart beating. “No,” he said. “No, you didn’t. No one deserves to be r-” His voice faltered on the word ‘rape’. It was too horrible. Too awful even to say aloud. “To be assaulted,” he finished.

“Not even me?” Al whispered, clinging to James.

James put a hand under Albus’s chin, forcing him to raise his head and meet James’s eyes. “Especially not you,” he said, dropping a kiss on Al’s lips.

Albus kissed him back.

Albus kissed him back, and it was anything but brotherly. Albus kissed him back, opening his mouth and encouraging James to thrust his tongue inside. James knew it was wrong, knew he shouldn’t, and did it anyway.

“You’re sure about that?” Al asked afterwards, looking away from his brother. “Even now?”

“Al…”

“Maybe they knew that. Maybe they could see it. Albus Potter, so twisted he’d suck his own brother off if he got the chance,” Al said, his voice full of self-hatred. “Anyone can have him. He won’t mind.”

“Al…”

“He’s asking for it. He deserves it. He’s a fucking pervert,” Al went on, raising his voice to drown out James. “He -”

James slapped him.

There was silence. A deep, horrible silence. The two boys looked at each other.

“I’m sorry,” James said quietly. “Sorry.”

“No. It’s me,” Albus mumbled. “It’s always me. I fuck up everything.”

“No. No. You don’t.” 

James’s arms went around him, and held him as close as he possibly could. Albus sagged in against him, almost boneless.

“I can’t help it, Jamie,” he said, voice full of tears.

“Shh.” James held his brother tightly. Al’s breath was warm against his neck, and he had leaned forward right into James. “Shh. It’s okay.”

“It isn’t. It’s never going to be okay.”

Albus had stopped crying now, and that was worse still. There was utter desolation in his voice. Despair.

“Albus…”

Al looked up at his brother. His eyes were dry now, though the tear smudges had smeared his cheeks.

“I can still taste them,” he said softly. “My mouth. They’re still there.”

“Merlin, Al.” James had no idea what to say. None.

Albus looked at him with desperate pleading. “Please. Just this once. To get rid of it – the taste. I need… God, I’m so pathetic.”

“What?” James asked. “What do you want? Al, I’ll do anything.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He so shouldn’t have said that. The moment the words were out, he realised what was in his brother’s mind. Albus’s green, green eyes staring into his.

“Really?”

James swallowed past the lump in his throat. If this was what Al needed, Merlin knew he’d earned the right to have anything he damn well wanted. Even this. Yes, even this.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“You – you won’t hate me? Afterwards?”

Albus Severus Potter, always so worried about other people, about how they’d feel, what they wanted. For once in his bloody life, he deserved to take what he wanted, what he needed. Even if it was seven shades of wrong. James tangled his hand through Al’s hair, looked into his eyes.

“I could never hate you,” he said.

Albus unbuttoned James’s robes slowly, giving him time to change his mind, to push Al away. James wanted to, on one level. This was wrong. It was very wrong. But Al needed it. In a small, guilty part of his brain, James knew he wanted it too. That was the worst thing, knowing that he wasn’t just agreeing for Albus’s sake, but that he kind-of-sort-of-definitely wanted Al to do it. Wanted to feel his brother’s lips round his cock. Not just because he wondered what it felt like – no, not just that. Wanted _Albus_ to do it. Fuck, he was as much a pervert as Al was, and so very much more cowardly. He couldn’t admit what he wanted. How fucking Gryffindor of him. House of the brave and such. What a bloody credit he was to his House, about to let his younger brother suck him, and pretending all the time that it was just for Albus’s sake.

Al pushed his hand inside James’s pants and slid out James’s cock. Still looking at James, still asking silently for permission. James stayed absolutely still, and so did Albus, James’s half-hard cock in his palm. James met Al’s eyes, sighed a little, and nodded.

“Sure?” Al asked tentatively.

“Yes.”

Al lowered his head. His mouth was so warm compared to his fingers. James gasped as Albus’s lips met the head of his cock, and Al jerked off again hastily. James stroked his hair, unable to tell him to continue; unable to tell him to stop.

“Thank you,” he heard Albus whisper as he bent down again.

Thank you. For something James wanted him to do but couldn’t admit to. Thank you. That was a stab to the heart, most especially because Al hadn’t meant it so. He’d meant it genuinely. Thank you.

Al’s mouth sank down around James’s cock and it was amazing. Albus was making little noises – of appreciation, James thought – and the tremors ran right through him. He clenched his hands into fists, wanting not to like it, pleading with an unseen deity to make it horrible, to make it grim and awful and just-doing-it-for-Al’s-sake; but the deity, if it even existed, wasn’t listening. It was glorious. It was… James wanted to buck his hips, to push himself further into Al’s mouth, but he couldn’t – he mustn’t. He groaned, unable to keep the noise back, and Albus lifted his head again.

“It’s… good,” James found himself saying, reassuring his brother. He ought to have been telling him no, telling him he’d tried it but he didn’t like it, sorry – was Al feeling better now anyway? But even James Sirius Potter couldn’t get out a lie of that magnitude. Not even now.

“Ohhh.”

Albus sighed with relief, and set to his self-appointed task. If it had been good before, it was nothing to what James was feeling now. Al was swirling his tongue around the top of James’s cock before taking the whole thing deep deep into his mouth so that James was… fuck, he was constricted by Albus’s bloody _throat_ and this was wrong wrong wrong and so, so fucking amazing. It didn’t take long until James was coming, hard, and Al was swallowing as much as he could, but bits of James’s semen were sliding out of the corners of Al’s mouth and it should not be hot, it should not be.

And it was.

Albus sat up again, and James dragged him into his lap, because whatever Al needed now it wasn’t someone giving him guilt over what he wanted and what he was like. Albus laid his head on James’s shoulder, and it felt so right. That was the thing. It felt right to have Albus there, his own erection hard against James’s stomach, his face nuzzling into James’s neck.

“Oh, Al,” James sighed; but it was not a cruel comment, not harsh or critical. It was what it was: James and Al, who had always been close, even for brothers, and now were closer still. “It’s okay,” he added, knowing how much Albus would need to hear that now.

“You don’t-”

“Hate you. No, of course I don’t,” James said gently. “Does it feel like I do?”

“No.” Albus buried his head into James’s shoulder. “I thought you would,” he said, his voice muffled. “I guess… the others… it was always because it couldn’t be you.”

“And it can’t be,” James said gently, stroking his brother’s back. “You know it can’t.”

He hated how much he wanted Albus to contradict him. But Al didn’t.

“I know,” Albus said. “But just – today…”

“Just today,” James agreed, holding Al tightly against him. 

He kissed the back of Albus’s neck. If today was all they had, then today they would have. Fuck the world. Fuck Hogwarts, and the fact that James would have to walk on back out there to a school-life ban from Quidditch, the humiliation of being sacked as Captain. That Al would have to walk back out to a school where five boys had tried to, and half-succeeded in, raping him. They – James and Albus - they had now.

And now was going to have to count for an awful lot.


End file.
